Peru: Visual propagada for Mauri, Tortuga and the prisoners

“…And my song is not the song of mourning and my song is not the song of protest, this song that I sing is a song of combat;And this song of the street is a song of struggle that is sung in this land, and this song is a song of war.”- Mauricio Morales.

Somewhat belatedly, or for us not since there is no date to remember Mauri and all the fallen warriors who kept themselves in the rejection and permanent combat with this system of exploitation; we act in solidarity with those who go on the offensive in accordance with their convictions, and today find themselves imprisoned, held hostage by power.

In the early hours of Sunday the 11th, taking advantage of the night’s complicity and the spontaneity of our actions. We show our remembrance of the comrade Mauricio Morales and our solidarity with the comrade Tortuga who continues resisting the repression of the $hilean state and the media spectacle that the bourgeois press wielded against him.

Using memory as a weapon.
Multiplying anti-authoritarian propaganda.
Reproducing the gestures of solidarity with David Lamarte, Carla Verdugo, Ivan Silva, Luciano Pitronello, the prisoners of the Security Case, and all the prisoners of the world!
Freedom to the comrades taken hostage in Bolivia!

International Revolutionary Front – Informal Anarchist Federation /Cell of Iconoclastic Action
In total rejection of the conditioning of our lives.

"I make the bed and look at the bars that cover the whole prison, the turret with its windows and powerful spotlights. I remember when I told you, “Whatever happens, we’ll look up at the sky, the constellation of Orion and the moon, and we’ll remember this moment.” I think I may have lied to you. From here the spotlights impede the view of the moon and the stars. I close my eyes from fatigue. Sleep enters softly, pleasantly, it surrounds me, until finally I’m in the forests and mountains again, you both look at me and laugh, the little hummingbird points his finger at me, “ile nuna” (look, moon) and I say to him, “Yes son, the moon,” and we escape again, and I no longer belong to the prison."
- Hans Niemeyer, Requiem for the Passing Moon